Clear The Mind

Everyone, once in a while, needs a way to take a break and clear their mind. Some people use art, some people use drugs, some people use math (nerds), and some people like me take their car for a good old fashion wash.

dvg8yjnI’ve never been good at drawing.With my bad luck, the first time I try a substance like methamphetamine or heroin, I’ll probably die, and math only makes me rip my own leg off, swallow it, and shit out a prosthetic of my own leg. That’s a very painful process, as you can imagine.

Therefore, I take two days out of every month to thoroughly give my baby, my car, a good old scrubbing.

Let me explain this process so you can understand why having mindless activities is absolutely pertinent to mental health.

Firstly, I arrive. That’s a big deal because I scope out everyone at the do-it-yourself wash to see if there are any other badasses like me. More often than not, there aren’t.

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Then I get some coins from the shitty coin machine while praying to a God I’m not entirely sure I believe in that the coin machine doesn’t fuck me over.

I sigh with relief when it does not.

I avoid eye contact with the one drunk/high homeless man who always tries to talk to me in Spanish. The bad thing about being as obsessive with routine as I am, is that other people start to recognize my habits as well.

Then I spray the chrome cleaner on my wheels and let it set for a few minutes before rinsing off my car, scrubbing it with the foam brush, then rinsing it again to make sure every bit of caked on dirt is annihilated.

I have an emotional connection to my computers, to my phones, to my vehicle. When I saw the ad on Craigslist for it all cleaned nicely, parked beside the cliffs against the sunset, I knew it was mine. I bought it two hours later. I care about my car as much as I care about my boyfriend.

When some woman passed my car this evening and touched the hood to keep her balance it felt like some chick had just walked up to my boyfriend and groped his junk. That’s how personal I get.

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Back to the story.

After everything is rinsed, I hurry and start the car and drive it to the drying station where I run around frantically with a five foot microfiber towel wiping away as much water as I can before the towel is drenched. Yes, I run. This is when most people start staring at the red haired chick with the red and blue eyebrows and black and blue eyeliner with blue eyelashes jogging in a circle around her vehicle until the entirety of the car is finished.

Did I mention I’ve dyed my hair and my eyebrows weeks ago? The blue eyelashes are not fake, I tint them with a gel eye shadow because I don’t like the colored mascaras in the stores, they don’t work very well.

I use specialized towels for the windows. I use one towel per two windows. When it comes to the windshield and back window, half of the windshield uses one towel, the other half uses a new one; the same goes for the back window.

screenshot_2015-10-13_at_11-50-38_amAt this point, everyone is staring. (Will she pull a house full of towels from her car? Is she hiding bodies in there? Why is she bumping that music and smoking pot in public? Oh Gosh, oh golly gosh, we gotta get out of here!)

Then I pull out the wax. Yes, my friends, I do not use that stupid “spray on wax” bullshit. What is that even? What. Is. That. It’s shit is what it is. I use the wax that comes in the round container with the sponge and karate kid the fuck out of my car.

My favorite wax is mothers:

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I currently use this brand that I can’t pronounce:

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I will be switching back to mother’s after I run out. Meg-whatever-the-fuck doesn’t coat for as long and the coat isn’t as protective as mothers’.

While the waxed sections air dry, I start cleaning out all the trash and thanking the million men who come up and say “wow, you keep your car clean, I like it”. I’ve had drug dealers (I saw him deal) in nice new Mercedes compliment me, I’ve had homeless men compliment me, I’ve had old country-style men compliment me, and I’ve had some guys feel so enamored by my presence that they offer to buy me stuff from the store. No, I do not accept; like I trust a guy I don’t know to hand me a drink, dude, get real. I don’t even trust waiters in restaurants half the time.

After I wipe away the wax and dust all the crevices I spray the tires. While that sets, I vacuum the inside and clean the inner windows and my mirrors.

I do everything in this order every two weeks. I’ve become a regular; all the regular men know me now. It takes anywhere from one and a half to three hours, depending on how dirty everything is, inside and out.

200380683-001I care enormously for my car. It hurts my heart that I don’t have the money to fix the oil leak or the entire suspension. I hate it. It hurts like I’m letting down my best friend.

That being said, I’ve had half of my suspension done; that was 500. I’m hoping to put in another five hundred to fix the back half this month or next. I’m hoping to find the oil leak and fix it myself when I have the time and a manual.

But he’s a power hungry little beast. He keeps up with all the new Hybrids and fancy sporty cars. I drag raced my friend’s 2014 Chrysler a week after her grandparents bought it for her, and won, not that that means anything.

The love someone feels for a child is what I feel for inanimate objects. They are things I can watch grow, they are things that make me happy when I’m sad. And everyone needs something like that in their life.

The best thing about owning your own car is customization. At this point I will announce my latest cheap changes that will be happening before October (that in no way effect my fund to fix the suspension, in case you’re the kind of person who sits here and says ‘uugghh stop spending money on the outside of your car when the inside is shitty’).

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The two emblems on the back are this:

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Around my license plate is this:

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Where my car is labeled “Stratus”, I will be replacing the chrome letters with “Strange”.

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Yes, those are chrome wheels and not plastic rims. BALLIN’.

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Where it says “Dodge” on the left hand corner of the drivers door (and passenger door), I will be putting “Music”.

Yes, this is all legal.

 

This is my way of balancing my sanity: giving my entire day to taking care of something I care tremendously about. Everyone should have a car to wash, a painting to paint, a song to write, something that gives your brain time to relax and remember itself for a moment. It’s amazing how calmed you are afterwards.

Hell Is A Whirlpool

Warning: Partially Nonsensical rant coming. I should make a partially nonsensical page on my blog to separate it from the sensical things. Hmm.

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It’s five in the morning and I just arrived home. Stress is by far my greatest nemesis.

I am someone who thinks very quickly, constantly, naturally. Contrary to what some people believe, that does not make me smart. I don’t know where the notion comes from: oh she’s a quick thinker, she must be Einstein.

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If I were Einstein, I wouldn’t struggle with math as much. And oh boy do I struggle with math. Although I’m one to pay attention to detail, because my head is constantly full to the brim with things to think about (things to do, things I could do, questions about reality, questions about non-reality, things I could make, build, extort, things I could become famous from but probably never will but that doesn’t stop me from obsessing over it, e.t.c), the small parts of math like the addition of a fraction in the middle of an integral for a work function gets thrown out the window.

It’s plagued me since I was in elementary school. It takes me longer to process math than any other subject, and I’ve noticed as I take tests and do homework, my mind gets lost in the sea of other brilliant/not so brilliant/ mildly psychotic thoughts and when I look at my answer and the back of the book and yank my hair out because the answer is wrong, it takes me another half an hour to notice I wrote “1/2” instead of “1/12” or I subtracted where I should have added.

It sounds minor, but it costs me a lot of points on tests constantly. In high school my teacher always shook his head at my tests and said “it’s always the tiny stuff with you.”

And it is. It is the tiny stuff with me. Thanks for pointing it out and never helping me come to a solution for it.

I won’t talk bad about him, he was one of the best teachers I had and the last I heard he fell into a really, really, dark depression after his wife left him.

When stress hits, my thoughts that already go 300 mph hit the speed of sound and all around my brain I have these little sound barrier breaks like this:

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If you know anything about physics or sound, or if you’ve seen one of these guys live or on YouTube, you’ll know you see the plane whizz past and hear the boom just a second or so later.

Imagine one thousand of those things passing over your house in different directions, consistently.

In this metaphor, in case you’re wondering, the physical plane represents one thought, and the boom represents my consciousness of it. I feel I’m always a split second behind my brain. It’s got so many things I want to do, so many things I need to do, so many things I probably should do but aren’t, so many things I probably shouldn’t do and still aren’t, so many real things, so many imaginary things, so many imaginary things that could be real and visa-versa.

I got a brain scan and through some improved technology, they managed to take a picture of the physical thoughts in my head. They were partying:

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As you can imagine, my memory is both shit and brilliant at the same time. To hold all these thoughts and ideas takes an incredibly amount of attention and as a result, my attention suffers. It’s a cruel world.

As you can imagine with my natural state being full of thoughts, with anxiety making my thoughts more obsessive, and stress making them quicker, I can’t sleep for shit.

As you can imagine, with all the above, I can’t relax.

And as a result, I shut down. Physically and mentally.I am currently in the middle of a shut down. Even the smallest thing, like handing a paper to my professor, becomes a monumental task I sit in my room and obsess over and somehow my brain convinces us it’s worse than climbing out of a trench in the middle of a war.

I also talk to myself a lot more often during this period with a tendency to twitch and/or smack myself. It’s not something I can really control, it all just happens, and I look crazy in the store: another reason I hate going places.

I. Am. Tired.

I don’t know why I’m still writing.

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I get a little break from it all with marijuana. I think I’ve said this before, but I don’t smoke often anymore, only when I feel I need to, and often it helps me sit down and realize I need to do one thing at a time and not beat myself up over tiny fucking shit.

It’s funny the progression of everything though. Smoking, I can sense a difference in the way my thoughts are formed; they’re a little more linear, they don’t slam into each other, and often I can go a full stretch of time without feeling overwhelmed by thoughts or suspicions or paranoia or even anxiety.

The anxiety deficit requires more than a few bowls though, which usually results in that very obvious “high” look and sound. If I’m not careful, I fall over the rim of normal marijuana high into the “people are in the bushes, keep watch” marijuana high, and that kind of high is some straight bullshit. That’s not fun, that’s the exact opposite of what I want when I’m high.

That didn’t start happening until two or three years ago. It’s a reason I cut down drastically.

And I can feel the high wear off when the first thought slams into the next. Then I’m thrust back into a whirlpool of hell in my head.

That’s where I sit right now.

My playlist tonight you ask?

That’s not my whole playlist.

But those were the last four songs I listened to.

Going to another Tech Concert in eighteen days, anticipating the new album 12/9/16. What a wonderful way to say farewell to 2016.

In case you were wondering, I’ve been a Tech N9ne fan since I was ten years old; so eleven years ago.

I’ve also been a Korn fan since I was 10 years old. They have a new album dropping October 21st if anyone was wondering.

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In case you’re thinking “Jesus, what kind of ten year old was she?” (the answer is an awesome one), I also listened to the fucking Cheetah Girls, so you know, go figure man.

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